


5 People You Meet in California

by chatcolat



Series: Beach Boys [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatcolat/pseuds/chatcolat
Summary: Laurent Vere, PhD, has just moved to California and he's not particularly enjoying it.





	1. Nicaise

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is building moments in Laurent's life after his move to California. We will examine his transition through the formation of the relationships that will define his time there.

The first person Laurent met upon moving to California could hardly be considered a person. Laurent reasoned this because children were not real people. Like animals, they were made to be obedient in exchange for the love and devotion of people to place upon them until they reached an age of reason. Laurent was no fool: he knew that reality could pose a problem to this model. The boy in front of him was case and point.

 

“Fuck off old man.” The boy said. He had been apprehended trying to steal Laurent’s wallet from his bag. Laurent currently had him by the wrist.

 

“Children shouldn’t speak that way to elders,” Laurent commanded, coolly. There were many questions that had been running through his head since he discovered the little hand, connected to a little arm, extending from his handmade Italian handbag. Starting with commanding his mouth to frown and his own fingers to catch the little culprit, he began to wonder why he had decided California was a good idea. His current stream of mental questioning asked, what should he do now?

 

“I’m not a kid!” The Kid shouted back at him. Laurent realized that they were halting the flow of sidewalk traffic. The grubby child in front of him was struggling valiantly, disrupting commuters. His New York blood was offended, so he pulled The Child off to the side.

 

“Stop. You are, like, five,” he commanded, looking around. He was not soulless. He was not an idiot. He could recognize a homeless pickpocket as fast as he could catch one. Children couldn’t be obedient, he accepted, if no love or affection was given to them. He spotted a food truck and began pulling towards it.

 

“I’m ten!” The Boy shouted, clawing at his hands.

 

“I wrestle sharks for a living, Urchin. You will not defeat me,” Laurent informed him, then pointing to the food truck, added, “I will also bribe you to not tear up my skin. I will buy you anything from that food cart if you stop.”

 

The Small Person stopped, thinking it over, before allowing Laurent to pull him towards the food cart. It was selling Korean BBQ Gyros, which sounded like an abomination to culture, but that was the West Coast.

 

“Fine,” the boy said as they stepped in line. “But I only do blowjobs.”

 

If that comment was intended to make Laurent relent his grip, it more than worked. Laurent not only let go but took a large step away from him.

 

“No,” he dictated. “You will do nothing of the sort. I will buy you food, you will not steal my money in the future. _Comprends?_ ”

 

“Oh.” The Tiny Thing let out a sigh or relief. Laurent felt disgust with the world rise in his chest.

 

“This is a gross breach of social contract,” he muttered. The Urchin did not seem to hear him and was contentedly humming to himself, looking over the displayed images of his food options. Laurent adjusted his cashmere scarf, and waited as the woman in front of him ordered a Bulgogi Gyro. It was hot in California, which made him uncomfortable. This whole place was designed to be hell on earth, it seemed.

 

“What’ll you have?” The man who was ready to take their order was neither Korean, nor Greek, but Laurent had already accepted that. Laurent pointed to the boy, who then proceeded to order half the available options. He had accepted that, too.

 

The food truck owner hesitated, looking for confirmation from a Real Adult. The boy glared a challenge at him.

 

“And a Bulgogi Gyro with kimchi,” he added, pulling his wallet from his bag.


	2. Paschal ft. Erasmus and Vannes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unfortunate events of Laurent's first day at work.

The second person Laurent met in California was supposed to be his advisor, both in terms of his academic work and his career, in other words: a very important man. When recounting the tale of his social upheaval to the West Coast, Laurent would probably leave out the two people he met before hand. The first, a lowly tour guide, the second, a _colleague_.

 

“Hello and welcome to the Ios Aquarium! How can I help you?”

 

Laurent was rarely impressed with customer service anywhere, an impression that hadn’t changed since moving across the country. Most people in service positions were either too terribly miserable to bear, or so overly enthusiastic it made him sick. Both, Laurent understood, were coping mechanisms for working jobs no one else wanted. The man in front of him, however, seemed to actually be _enjoying_ himself.

 

“My name is Laurent Vere. I’m the new marine biologist,” he said crisply and to the point.

 

The man smiled even wider. “Oh! Wonderful! I’m Erasmus, one of the tour guides.” He extended a hand in proper greeting. Laurent was so impressed with the decency in decorum he had so far found lacking on this side of the country that he realized a moment too late that he was smiling back as he shook the man’s hand. As his hand fell away, the only thought echoing in his mind was, _damn, school tours must eat him alive._

 

With a gesture and a follow me, Erasmus was leading him through the maze of the aquarium to where the offices for researchers were. Erasmus, obviously still in tour guide mode, would begin explaining something about the various tanks and aquatic life within before catching himself, blushing, and apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m sure you already knew that.”

 

After this had happened enough times for Laurent to lose confidence in his own knowledge of marine life, he clarified, “Actually, I focus mostly on predators and know nothing about clown fish. Feel free to enlighten me.”

 

Erasmus’ face lit up like a child receiving a puppy on Christmas. Laurent considered his own job satisfaction to be relatively high, especially when the shark to people ratio was higher than most humans generally cared for, but Erasmus took it to a new level. He _loved_ the aquarium and all it’s inhabitants. Laurent found it almost endearing, but he would never say such a thing out loud. This part of California was much better than the street urchins.

 

“And here,” Erasmus said, enormous smile still stretched across his face, arms indicating movement through a rather nice looking set of wooden doors, “Are the research offices. If you need anything, just ask! I’m usually at the front desk if I’m not on a tour.”

 

Laurent nodded politely just before the door slammed open – into his face. _Fuck this place._

 

“Vannes! Please be more careful with the doors!” Erasmus half squeaked, half shouted. Laurent was attempting to quell the blood spurting from his nose, or he too would have shouted something, though probably not nearly as polite as Erasmus.

 

“Jesus Christ, why were you standing behind the door!?” A rather tall woman barked at him.

 

“I was _opening_ the damn door,” Laurent hissed.

 

“Fuck. Are you the new guy?” she was leaning over him now, pulling out a handkerchief and trying to help him stop the bleeding. “Shit. What a first impression. I hope I didn’t break your nose. Good thing we aren’t in the shark tanks!”

 

It wasn’t funny, but Laurent found himself laughing at the situation anyways. She and Erasmus led him to the staff kitchenette and helped him wash the blood off his face and jam paper towels up his nose. Luckily, he had been able to keep blood off his clothes.

 

Vannes seemed like a decent enough colleague. At cocktail parties for the rest of their career together, she would tell the story of how nothing bonds two people faster than attending to unexpected bodily fluids. She told it like a sex joke, which got everyone to laugh because no one in their right mind would think either she or Laurent was straight.

 

Laurent met Paschal, his boss for the immediate future, with two wads of paper towel sticking out of his nose and his sweater rumpled.

 

“Welcome to Ios Aquarium, Laurent, we’re glad to have you,” he began, kindly eyeing but saying nothing about Laurent’s disheveled scarf.

 

“Sorry. Had a run in with Vannes,” he joked.

 

Paschal nodded gravely, as if people often came into his office to complain of encounters with Vannes. Laurent registered that in his current state of bedraggled dress, one might think _he_ had just made a sex joke. Though Paschal seemed with it for a man of his age, Laurent still felt the need to clarify, “And by run in, I mean she hit me with the door. But it’s fine.”

 

There was a smile in Paschal’s eyes, so Laurent considered the first impression not to be a complete failure.

 

∞

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the new BB chapter should pop up soon. i'm just editing because fuck if i know anything about surfing.


	3. Nikandros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent currently has about negative 12 reasons to stay in California. The Starbucks barista near the aquarium might be cute, but it's not enough to make up for the fact he makes a shitty cappuccino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, the third person was hard for me to come up with..........but actually this story is done and I'm just slow posting it. Sorry.
> 
> Keep me motivated over at https://chatcolat.tumblr.com/

The third person Laurent met in Ios, California seemed trivial and unimportant when they met, but later became indispensable in guaranteeing he remain in this sunny hell. It was funny, he decided, much later, how life worked. There wasn’t room in his life for belief in things like fate, no matter how much certain other people in his life insisted it was real. Yet something felt different when he went to Starbucks that day.

 

Laurent did not usually go to Starbucks, but it was the closest caffeine dispensary to the aquarium – that and he was pretty sure they put crack in their drinks because he was starting to like them.

 

So here he was, one afternoon, waiting on a rather attractive barista to fill his order. He was doing it wrong, but watching his toned arms work made up for it. Laurent would, of course, make him do it again. Partially so he could keep watching, partially because he was not putting that much dairy in his system.

 

“Here you go, dude,” the barista smiled the wide, casual smile people seemed to use here when they didn’t want to talk to you. He obviously hated his job but had been yelled at enough that he was able to plaster a smile on his face and affect a horrible accent to try to seem friendly.

 

Laurent smiled back, the one usually described as hell-raising. He accepted the drink, pretended to weigh it for a few seconds then remarked, “It’s a bit heavy.” A bit was really being too kind. It was mostly milk, after all.

 

“What?” The façade of customer service slipped. Erasmus would be mortified, no doubt.

 

“I asked for a cappuccino and this is clearly a latte.”

 

“You’re just holding it.” His name plate read Nikandros. Laurent briefly wondered if he was actually Greek or if his parents were a part of that California trend in cultural appropriation.

 

“I’m weighing it. It’s heavy, because you put so much milk in it. Cappuccinos should be light and airy with frothed foam.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Laurent derived a certain sort of pleasure from breaking that fake appearance of complacency – not just with people in service positions, but generally. He destroyed Vannes latest thesis yesterday and she redacted her apology for hitting him with the door.  It made his whole day.

 

“I’m not, actually. As a barista you should probably know the difference between a latte and a cappuccino,” Laurent lamented, falsely.

 

“It’s fucking Starbucks, dude. If you want a proper coffee try a real café!” He didn’t quite shout, but a colleague looked aghast and a few patrons turned their heads.

 

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Laurent smiled his best. If he didn’t hate people so much, he really would make an excellent human resources rep. “You will make me a proper cappuccino, because it’s what I ordered. I will also save you from being wasteful and donate this-“ he help up the latte “-To a homeless child. You will comply, and then I won’t report you for swearing at me and decrying the company name, _Comprends?”_

 

Nikandros looked like he wanted to punch him across the counter. Laurent would consider it a personal achievement the day that happened, but it was not today. He grabbed the venti cup and went to work making another drink. His colleague approached cautiously to offer help, guidance, a shoulder to cry on, but Nikandros plowed on. He knew his honor was at stake, surely.

 

“Here’s your fucking latte,” he hissed, thrusting it over the counter.

 

Laurent accepted, weighed it, pretending not to watch Nikandros’ irritated face, and replied, “Much better. Still needs work though! We’ll get you making excellent coffee soon enough, though. Don’t worry.”

 

He left, watching Nikandros’ reflection turn to rant at his colleague in the shiny windows as he did. What a perfect start to the morning.

 

“Here, Urchin. I got you a coffee.”

 

“Children shouldn’t have coffee. It stunts their growth,” Nicaise, the Urchin’s true name, replied, accepting it anyways.

 

“Children should have parents and a roof over their head, but alas the world is an imperfect place,” Laurent sighed. “Now drink that and go play. I’ll meet you by the food trucks for lunch.”


	4. Uncle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent is forced to reckon with the worst part of California: his uncle.

It’s mid morning and Laurent’s phone is dancing across his desk, playing the Imperial March. He had originally assigned that ringtone to this particular contact in the hopes that the silliness of the comparison would make receiving calls from his uncle less painful. It didn’t.

 

With a deep breath, he reached for the phone.

 

“Laurent! Nice of you to pick up!” his uncle said by way of greeting.

 

“Good morning, Uncle,” Laurent managed through clenched teeth. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

He could hear his uncle’s condescending smile through the phone. “I just wanted to welcome you to the West Coast! How are you liking California so far?”

 

_I fucking hate this hellhole, thanks. Obviously you belong here, o king of the underworld._ That was unfair. Laurent was sure no god of the underworld deserved such a comparison.

 

“It’s very sunny,” he said instead, looking over the work on his desk for a decent excuse to end the conversation.

 

“Is that all you have to say? A bit juvenile, don’t you think? A PhD at twenty-four and the most you can do after a week in a place is comment on the weather. I feel like you wasted my money, paying for that school of yours.” The smile was louder.

 

Laurent took another deep breath, counted to ten.

 

“I spend most of my time at work,” he apologized. “I haven’t been out much.”

 

His uncle chuckled. “How is that little aquarium? Is it still that grouchy old Paschal that runs the place?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Wonderful. I’ll have to come by for a visit. Maybe the good state of California can donate some funds for ocean preservation research?”

 

A bribe. Laurent suppressed a groan. “Perhaps. What would that take?”

 

“How about lunch once a week?”

 

There were a million and one reasons for Laurent to say no, but after the budgeting meeting Paschal had held yesterday, this could secure his position here for a few more years – if he wanted to stay that long. One week in Ios left him with more reasons to leave than to stay.

 

“Sounds doable,” he relented. They set a time and place for the next day, or, rather, his uncle told him where they were meeting and when. When they hung up, Laurent let his head fall against his desk hard enough it left a mark that Vannes commented on later.  ( _“Did you get hit with a door again?”_ )

 

Laurent had never been able to fully put together what exactly it was about his uncle that made him so uncomfortable. He had read something online once about gaslighting – he figured that was part of it. There were also the rumors that he was a child molester, something no one had yet to prove, but hindsight made Laurent question a lot of lingering touches and uncomfortable moments in his childhood. He had then tried to steal Laurent and Auguste’s inheritance, which made things a bit awkward. There was a nasty rumor that he may have some how orchestrated the car crash that had taken Laurent’s parents from him as well. Also, the incident a few months ago where his uncle shot a man in the face while hunting and the man – who had undergone facial reconstructive surgery – apologized to his uncle for getting in the way of his bullet.

 

Generally, skin-crawling was the best way Laurent could describe his uncle. Skin so crawling that you wanted to vomit.

* * *

 “Laurent!” his uncle greeted him as he approached their reserved table. “I’m glad you could make it.”

 

Laurent was fifteen minutes early for their scheduled lunch, but suddenly felt very late. He quickly took off his scarf and settled down.

 

“Good afternoon, Uncle,” he replied. “I trust you’ve been having a good day.”

 

His uncle smiled. “Yes, quite. All the better for getting to see you again after so long.”

 

So long because Laurent didn’t like sitting in the same room as him. There was a reason Auguste had moved all the way to Australia, and this man was probably it.

 

“How is the salary at the aquarium? I’ve noticed you spending less money on the credit card I gave you.”

 

Laurent forced a smile. “It’s adequate enough to cover my living expenses.”

 

Laurent had been placed a rather precarious predicament since the death of this parents. He was, in fact, a trust fund kid. When he turned twenty-five in a year, he would become the wealthiest marine biologist in the world. Unfortunately, all of his money was under his uncle’s control until then. Inheriting said money had all been placed on a contingency of obtaining a certain level of higher education, namely, law school. When his parents died, aspects of their will became a bit contestable, and for most of Laurent’s tertiary education, he doubted he would be able to access his promised wealth at all.

 

After his uncle’s numerous attempts to block his grad school applications and acceptances, he finally managed to find confidence in his future being secure to pursue any career path he wanted, largely because his dear Auguste had become one of the best solicitors in the business and promised that there was almost nothing their uncle could do at this point to stop Laurent from getting his inheritance.

 

That didn’t mean the man wasn’t still trying.

 

“I’m glad, I worry about you, you know.”

 

Laurent tried not to laugh. It was difficult.

 

When the waiter came for their orders, it felt like a lifetime since he had entered the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaaaaaaaay this fic is almost done
> 
> come talk with me at https://chatcolat.tumblr.com/ I'm really very friendly


	5. Damen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent meets Damen.

Of all the people Laurent met upon moving to California, there was only one who made him want to stay. They were strangers, completely irrelevant to each other, but Laurent was forced to admit that life and love sometimes worked in ways beyond logical comprehension. It was the least intentional of all his meetings, considering it happened when Laurent was trying to get a few minutes away from it all.  

 

A typhoon had just slammed into the coast, causing general storm havoc and what not, leaving the streets of Ios relatively deserted. As a cripplingly anxious introvert, this was the way Laurent preferred the world. When most people looked at pictures of post apocalyptic New York, they were mortified by it’s emptiness, its lack of people. Laurent saw paradise. (Okay, so maybe the lack of maintenance was a little disturbing, but the silence was beautiful. Someone had once suggested he moved to the country side, but the idea of living in a flyover state with insects and a lack of modern convenience mortified him.)

 

So here he was, standing on the rocks near the beach after the storm, enjoying the cool silence. It hung in the air, wrapping around him like a security blanket. Finding naked shorelines was hard here in paradise, something that made Laurent long for the cold coastlines of New England where he could sit all by himself and contemplate whatever he felt like contemplating without having to worry about other people.

 

The ocean after a storm was beautiful because everything was a mess. This sort of predictable chaos was the natural order of the universe. There were no abandoned children or doors opening on his nose, no angry barista’s who did know how to make a decent cup of coffee. No sharks being hunted to extinction. No crowded beaches, no factories causing global warming and ocean acidification. And most importantly, no uncles. Damn the end of the world was beautiful.

 

He wasn’t here without reason. All morning he and Vannes had been going over possible places to measure variously important signifiers of water health in Ios and the parts of the Pacific around it, and this had seemed a good spot as any to test the strength of the human impact. Vannes said he could check it out tomorrow, after the storm subsided, but Laurent ended up here anyways. It would be a decent spot when the waves weren’t this wild, but the risk of falling in would always be high. Maybe if he wore a wet suit…

 

When asked to comment on Laurent’s personality, most people closest to him, his professors, his brother, would generally describe him as decisive. A born leader. Laurent never felt that way though. It was a part of his façade that was so flimsy he was disappointed when no one saw through it. He didn’t choose to come to the beach today, he just ended up here, letting his feat carry him through empty streets. He hadn’t decided to come to California, it just ended up being the most practical next step. If anything, he had wanted to follow Auguste to Australia and work in the dying reefs out there, but things never went the way he planned them. But still, he was Decisive Laurent.

 

Maybe, he thought to himself, that’s why I’m so miserable here.  

 

Because California sucked. There was absolutely nothing about this place that attracted him outside of the aquarium. He hated the way people walked, the way they talked, the way they _existed_ here. Auguste had loved living in California. Back when Laurent was at boarding school and their parents weren’t cultivating daisies, he had gone to school at Stanford. He loved the people, the community, the food, the weather, everything. And surfing. Dear god, the surfing. Thanksgiving was a fucking nightmare when he would come home, tanned from months at the beach, and go on and on about his life that Laurent was no longer a part of.

 

Meanwhile, Laurent had been bored and alone at boarding school in France. He had no friends and no particular interests, but his marks were fine. Excellent in fact. His teachers were convinced he was a prodigy, the next great something-or-other. Each teacher wanted him to the master of their subject, picking him out as an unwilling favorite. This made him less popular with his classmates, so he always ended up in the library, alone.

 

That was where he discovered his love for sharks. His life had been on this trajectory ever since. The Laurent of the present, standing on the boulders jutting out of the sea, laughed a little. It was funny how little it took to alter the course of one’s life. One small decision. At least, for all his lack of conviction, he was doing something he loved.

 

The wind picked up, blowing the fresh smell of the ocean back at him. Adjusting his feet for balance, he raised his arms, letting the wind hit him full on, almost like a hug. He thought of that stupid scene in the Titanic – did that stupid Celine Dion song actually play during that scene or was that one of those things changed in the common memory by the Mandela Effect?

 

He should leave California. The thought came over him rather suddenly as the heat drained from his body. Take a research position in Australia or New Zealand. Then maybe Auguste would feel less dead to him. It could get cold in New Zealand, right? There was snow in Lord of the Rings. He could be cold and still visit his brother regularly. Besides, the whole board shorts and t-shirt look was really starting to grate on him –

 

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

 

The hand forcefully dragged him back.

 

Every neuron in his brain fired into panic mode. He was being kidnapped. Ransomed. Enemies of his uncle. His uncle fed up with his schemes for Laurent’s inheritance.

 

_Fuck this place._ He should never have come here.

 

“What the actual fuck?” he swore aloud, trying to keep his balance on the rocks. He turned quickly, wobbling a little on the slick rocks, not sure what he was about to face.  

 

The man was bulkier than him, he could tell that. The wind and sea spray in his eyes made it hard to get a clear picture, so he acted on instinct. He had taken a few self defense classes in his life. They had proved useful more than a few times in college, and they served him well now. Laurent brought his knee up into the man’s crotch, bringing his foot down hard on the inside of the man’s foot. The appropriate guttural suggestions of pain reached his ears over the storm and he hissed, “As if, Cali scum.”

 

“Dude,” the man replied. No longer in immediate danger, Laurent wiped the salt from his eyes. The man had a strong build with California-Sun tanned skin and dark hair. If they had met somewhere other than a bunch of rocks slippery with storm, Laurent might have found him attractive, but the whole possible kidnapper-rapist vibe killed the mood.

 

“I was trying to help,” the man gasped.

 

Laurent frowned, poised to walk away and leave his attacker to die on the rocks, but curiosity was his weakness. “What are you talking about?”

 

“This is a suicide spot,” the man explained. “Big rocks, angry water. Are you _not_ trying to kill yourself?”

 

Laurent stared at him, caught by surprise by the honest look in his eyes. It could be a lie – the would-be assailant buying time to attack again – but there was a definite sincerity in his voice. And those eyes. Staring at him with a mix of anger and compassion that Laurent wasn’t accustomed to seeing. This stranger, whom he had just kneed in the balls, had actually been worried about him. Now he felt like a dick.

 

“You think I’m trying to kill myself _?_ ” Did he look so desperate? And here he thought he had gotten better at controlling his emotions. “No. No, no, no. Not that at all.”

 

The stranger was still crouched down, coming to terms with the pain a well-placed knee cap could render, but somehow managed to spread his arms, mimicking the stance Laurent himself had just been employing. Laurent scoffed. He couldn’t decide if he was more touched that someone had cared he might end his life or annoyed at the lack of cultural literacy this close to Hollywood.

 

“Haven’t you ever seen Titanic?” he snapped. When a blank face continued to stare at him, he hummed a few bars of My Heart Will Go On, embarrassingly off key as he tried to make it loud enough to hear over the wind.

 

“Oh.” Was all he got back.

 

“Oh!?” he hissed. “You gave me a fucking heart attack, asshole. I almost _did_ fall.” His heart was racing a mile a minute. Those eyes gave him all away, every emotion worn plain as day on the man’s face.   

 

He wasn’t angry. Touched was probably a better word. But Laurent wasn’t sure how to respond. When someone grabbed at him on a stormy seaside, he was more prepared to defend himself from his uncle playing at Count Olaff than a warm-eyed stranger begging him not to jump. Frustration and confusion bubbled up inside him, hot and hard. He refused to cry now.

 

“We need to get off the rocks,” the man shouted over the wind. He was standing now. Laurent took a step back.

 

“I’m not going to jump!” he yelled back, turning away to hide the wet brimming in his eyes. He noticed the water then, pulling away, a surge getting ready to rise. _Oh._

 

“One stray wave can pull you over,” the stranger shouted. This was true. Laurent had seen it happen. Undergrads, tourists, and the like getting too close to the edge, only to be lost forever. He _knew better._

 

“I’m not an idiot!” he snapped back. The tears were, thankfully, frozen now, as a new sort of fear gripped him. The waves here would be merciless. Falling meant getting repeatedly slammed against the rocks.

 

“So move!”

 

Laurent did, slowly picking his way back the way he’d come. He was not wearing the right shoes for this, something he had noticed when first stepping off the boardwalk a little ways away. He was probably going to fall. He couldn’t fall. Falling meant death. _Fuck this place._

 

His foot contacted some sort of god dammed algae, the sort of barnacle bullshit that Vannes was into, and his body pitched. If he could shift his weight, he could catch himself, try to dive for the damp wood just a few feet away, but he was too late. He closed his eyes, resigned to the fact that death was, at this point, inevitable, when strong arms wrapped around him. He was lifted from the rocks, out of Death’s most certain clutches, and placed on the edge of the dock. Big brown eyes stared back at him. His heart leapt. The arms were warm, safe. He would give anything, he realized, to keep them tucked around his waist.

 

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me.”

 

His heart was dancing a pas de deux alone. Why? Why was this stupid Californian so devoted to saving a stranger? A stranger who had assaulted him. Laurent was nothing to him. Probably less than that, considering how much people here seemed to hate East Coasters like him as easily as they could sniff his kind out. Probably less than nothing because he had kneed him in the balls.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” the man warned. Laurent wasn’t sure if he meant about being on the rocks or if his heart was beating so loud that he could hear it and was denying Laurent any hope whatsoever. “The storm’s not done, so stay off the beach.” Oh. That.

 

He started walking away. Laurent didn’t want him to walk away.

 

Before he even knew what he was doing, he shouted, “Like you?” He just wanted him to stay a little longer.

 

For a moment, he wasn’t sure his words had carried over the wind. Then the man turned. Laurent didn’t know what to say, what to expect. Anything, he realized, anything would be okay. All he wanted were those eyes to stay on him a moment longer.

 

“I’m not some idiot, yuppie, tourist.”

 

It was supposed to be a burn, but it was the exact sort of thing Laurent himself would have said. Like calling to like. Maybe that was what had brought him out here during this horrible weather. He laughed, but the man was already out of earshot.  

 

Maybe, if California could produce a man like this, it wasn’t all bad. Maybe, if he could see this man again, he could stay in California.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was sappy af. hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> find me on tumblr: https://chatcolat.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> It's Nicaise. He will be coming back. With a name. 
> 
> Guesses for who's next?


End file.
